


Vessel

by Punk_Kenobi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Crucifixion, Gen, Manipulation, Possession, Small mention of molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Kenobi/pseuds/Punk_Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>n. a person regarded as a holder or receiver of something, particularly something immaterial</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this has been in the works for months but I had to basically rewrite the entire damned thing about halfway through because the first work was not at all what I wanted. I hope it's alright, I didn't want to go for a completely hollywood style possession theme but then I just said "fuck it" after a while and this happened. It's not ever gonna be posted if I don't post it now.
> 
> On a side note, I might add a separate work for an epilogue or coda that has little to do with this other than an aftermath thing because I really like Elrond/Thranduil and it's been niggling at me to write that. So yeah, don't wait up for it. I didn't want to add it on here because some people don't like that and I honestly prefer writing gen fic, but my brain wanted to give shipping fic a go. 
> 
> Happy New Year's, have some angst to start things off on the wrong(Right?) foot.

Thranduil staggered haphazardly through Mirkwood, having been drawn southward from his palace two days ago. By now he knew very well what was reeling him in and he could not stop himself as his feet slowly navigated the winding paths without his input. He could not see where he was being led but it didn't matter. His mind was captive as his body was no longer his own, hands gripping swords he'd not carried in decades. He could only listen as he slashed at air, occasionally even connecting with a tree or worse, a poor animal that had gotten in his way. 

He soon heard the sound of horse hooves nearby and a father and child speaking.

_Oh, let's have some fun before I leave you, why don't we?_

"Please don't...I-I've done enough...."

Thranduil felt his glamours shift and change about him, masking his body in a form he'd never taken before as he slunk through the trees lining the path, speaking in a voice that was his own but lacked his own input.

_"You, dear child, do come with me! Many games I will play with you and I have many robes of gold to give."_

Thranduil heard the child speak. He couldn't have been more than a young child, a couple years in mortal time. His voice, high and joyful, keened at his offer.

"Da, Da, did you not hear that voice? It sounded like the Elvenking! He promised me golden robes and games!"

The father chuckled and merely led the horse on while Thranduil's feet followed after them. He was right to doubt his son, there would be no royal gifts given to him.

"I did not hear a thing, my child, it was likely the wind. Be calm and sit still."

_Want to know what you look like?_

Thranduil shook his head, speaking quietly. "No...no I don't..."

"Ada, Ada, it's a giant man with horns on his head, and big, round, white eyes! He looks like a deer!"

Thranduil knew he could project himself as a stag, it was a power he'd held since childhood. It was an illusion, one that his controller played with as one would a puppet andheld up for the child to see. Doubling over and letting out a gasp of pain as his insides were wracked with what felt like knives, Thranduil felt his mouth move again, blood trickling from his lips. The force that propelled him forward was also trying to kill him. He could feel something growing, sharp and lithe, inside him like one of his precious orchids in bloom.

_"Come with me, child..."_

Thranduil could not believe what he was hearing come out of his mouth but then as he thought about each word he knew the reality was that it was entirely believable. When the child protested, he felt his hands hold up his swords and he ran out to try and steal the child right out of his father's arms. He felt tears come to his eyes as one sword pierced the child's heart, the other swiftly removing the father's hand. He heard the screams of the father and the choked sounds of the child as they rode off as fast as they could into the distance. His body, on its part, kept walking south, even though Thranduil cried at the knowledge that that child would be dead before he was home. The voice sang in joy around him, a song he'd heard many times before.

He wished this curse had never come to him.

\------

He'd first felt the presence of something many, many years before.

His wife was pregnant with their child and he hadn't been happier in his life. They liked to take walks through the wood. He'd been told the leaves of the south were less green than they had been, but the forest around the palace was still just as beautiful as it ever had been. Lithoniel walked barefoot beside him as they ambled, hands entwined. They sang to each other between kisses, Thranduil shyly rubbing his wife's stomach as they walked. 

"How do you suppose we should decorate the nursery?" Lithoniel asked, lost in thought.

Thranduil cocked his head and imagined verdant green leaves and vines winding their way around the crib's bars. Flowers lining the door frame and perhaps even a miniature arboretum outside his window. His imagination was the only thing he had, smiling. 

"I want the nursery to be alive. Plants, flowers, I want it to be lush and green for our baby." He gestured to open air, describing how he wanted the nursery to look. A tight feeling in his heart gripped him just then, pausing Thranduil in his tracks as he doubled over, gritting his teeth.

Lithoniel looked back to where her husband stopped, worry on her face as she returned to rub his back soothingly.

"What is it, my love? What's wrong?!"

Thranduil heard her words distantly, as if echoed in a cave, trying to choke out a response. "I...I don't..."

Within a matter of seconds, however, he came back to himself, the pressure ebbing away, and stood upright once more. He straightened his robes, feeling like there was still something but brushed it off as needless worry. "I...apologize, Litho, for that display. I don't know what came over me."

Lithoniel merely let out a soft sigh of relief and held his hands in hers. "You don't need to apologize. Do you need to see a healer?"

"Of course not, I'm perfectly fine." Thranduil scoffed. 

Lithoniel didn't believe him, not at all, but she decided not to press the matter. Thranduil figured that was for the best, as the baby was due soon and he didn't need to worry her more than she already had been.

\----------

Over the years, the fits came and went. First they were sporadic, weak things, no more than a mild jerk of an arm or a stray thought that chilled him. Thranduil kept these to himself and no one was the wiser, lest he be seen as losing his nerve. He raised Legolas with as much gusto as a father could have, playing games with him when not in meetings or holding him as he cried once Litho had never returned from the north where she disappeared.

He, too, felt overpowering grief for his wife, the gift he'd had made still not passed into her hands. She'd been there for him through everything. His recovery after the battle of Dagorlad, each stumble and impact with walls or the floor. She helped him up every time, brushed off his robes, and carefully turned him to point in the right direction even as he protested, as he lashed out at empty air even though he'd wished to strike her body, though the anger faded quickly each time. Every doubt, every dip in his confidence of being a blind king she immediately put a halt to with comforting words. Thranduil had sent out search parties for weeks, months, years after her disappearance, each one that came back empty leaving a pit of dread in his stomach, something not aided by the pain that occasionally rested there. One day his guard approached him, waiting for orders, but none came. Thranduil had given his own wife up for lost until the day Galion came up to him, voice quivering and obviously shaken. He knew immediately that something was wrong.

He slept by Litho's tomb for weeks, unable to stomach the vastness of a bed large enough for the both of them, preferring the cold stone beneath his head.

One night several weeks after her death, he had his worst spasm yet. He'd been in the middle of a celebratory dinner, as his guard had come back from a hunt without a single injury from fighting the spiders that slowly approached the palace. He was in no celebratory mood, but Legolas loved the music and it served his people well to have good morale for the winter, so he threw the feast anyway. He sat back in his chair, uninterested in the food before him and even the wine not piquing his interest.It started with him being unable to hear, ringing bells in his ears chiming louder than even the loudest drunken song being sung. So loud, they were, Thranduil nearly cried out at the deafening tone amid the harps and flutes of the court's musicians. The world, already permanently blacked out from his vision, seemed to fade away from him, though he heard the rabble of the crowd like ocean waves, distant and roaring. Together it formed a hellish cacophony that assaulted Thranduil's ears to the point where his head throbbed and he tried to escape the din.

_I have to get out of here._

Putting his hands on the table, he tried to stand, his legs turned to jelly below him. He stumbled trying to leave the dais he sat upon, vertigo taking him as he tried not to be ill. He felt hands on his shoulders, though instead of the firm grips he felt fiery vises burning and leaching into his skin, biting back another cry as he threw his arm out to push the offenders away.

"Get off of me! Daro!"

....that wasn't his voice. That did not sound at all like him, his low timbre turned gravelly and false, bringing him back to a more frightening time when each hour was his own private war he fought to survive. He was thankful for his tendency to drink, for the crowd must think him drunken right now and he preferred that to the alternative. As hastily as he could, Thranduil made for his chambers. He did not care for propriety at the moment, the urge to be ill overcoming him as soon as he was away from prying eyes. His form, already doubled over and on his knees, spasmed and shook as words spoken by his own tongue that he didn't understand fell from his lips. Illness and infirmity were positively unheard of for elves, so this was entirely unknown and he didn't know why he was suffering so. Thranduil's blood ran cold as he tried to get up from where he knelt, struggling only onto his hands and knees and feeling for a wall to grip. A sound, different from the loudness still clanging in his ears, floated into his perception. He tried to scurry away on all fours, not caring that he looked as debased as a wounded animal, moaning low in his throat at another wave of pain through his chest.

"....Ada! Ada...what is wrong, Galion...!"

"I don't know...help me get him calm, then I may move him. Thranduil...?"

Thranduil felt hands on him again, small and warm as well as larger and firm, and though he flinched away as he remembered the fiery burn that seared his flesh before, these hands only felt gentle. Still his breathing would not slow, his heart beating with the ferocity of having just been in battle, fighting not to bolt like a skittish fawn.

"Shh, Ada, it's...it's okay. Galion, am I comforting him right?"

"Yes, Legolas, you are. That's right, my king, just breathe...breathe in and out...that's it. I'm going to move you to your bedchamber, don't worry."

Thranduil lay for what seemed like hours before he felt himself be lifted and cast his sightless gaze to the ground as his cheeks burned with embarrassment, fresh tears staining his cheeks. He tried to get as far from others as possible. Trying his voice, he spoke quietly. It wavered and slurred enough that he sounded drunk, which is what he preferred.

"I...I-I'm sorry..."

He heard a sigh. "You've outdone yourself this time, sire. Perhaps you should ease up on the Dorwinion, you nearly sent Legolas into a panic...goodness knows you were in one yourself. What happened that frightened you so...?"

A snort left his exhausted form which he weakly turned into a feigned hiccup. "I...I don't know, Galion..."

Thranduil was carried to his chambers, stripped of his soiled clothing with the help of his best servant and friend, and put to bed. Legolas stayed with him, stroking his father's hand, speaking quietly.

"I didn't see any wine in your cup this night, Ada."

Thranduil turned his head away, unable to even be looking in his son's direction. Whatever this was, it was shameful. He figured it must be his mind and body deteriorating from losing his One. His voice rose up from the pile of pillows he had, quiet.

"....you're right, Legolas, there was none."

\------------- 

Slowly, the grief morphed into anger, and as Legolas grew, so did his father's rage. He never forgot that one evening when his father's health declined sharply. Since then, Thranduil kept to himself in his study or otherwise out of public eye. He had never been one for being short-tempered, but his mood grew fouler with each day and his face gaunter with the shadows of each evening. Though no one ever commented on their king's change, it was apparent that something was deeply wrong, and Legolas longed to know what had taken over his father's mind and body to such terrifying extent. 

Thranduil knew how the public saw him, let alone his own son. He was a reclusive, drunken king and he'd heard the rumors of those who were trying to supplant him now. He'd doubled his efforts to have the spiders pushed back from the borders of his kingdoms but the news of villages destroyed by the darkness merely fueled his upset. Every now and then servants or maids would hear yelling from distant rooms in the palace, though they knew better to stay away rather than try to pry. Pretty soon not even Legolas was allowed to be in his presence, and the prince thought long and hard about what to do. This wasn't his father, he knew him better. He wanted to see why he was no longer allowed around his own flesh and blood.

On Thranduil's part, he stayed out of the public eye because since that night, the fits were more common, more severe, and for longer than ever before. Legolas had stolen glances through mostly closed doors or windows or listened through them and what he'd seen was terrifying. Some involved his father scribbling frantically on parchment, seemingly legible and organized script despite his blindness. Other times he'd hear the unfamiliar script come from his tongue, sending chills down Legolas' spine as his father's low voice droned on for minutes on end that made his blood run cold at each word. Combined with the bizarre body movements, almost more like a puppet on strings, the effect froze Legolas to where he knelt or stood as he watched his father's dark reveries. Oftentimes he would collapse afterwards, the strings to his body being cut, hitting his head on cold stone. Legolas had to make sure Thranduil wasn't harmed, even if it meant dealing with the wrath upon his father's awakening.

_"What are you doing here?! I've told you never to enter my study!"_

_"I-I only heard something fall and when I looked in, you were..."_

_"I was resting, Legolas. Nothing more. Now leave me be."_

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen his father sleep or even rest to his knowledge. No wonder he looked so terrible. 

\-------------------

Thranduil first learned of his fate one morning. He was in the throes of another fit, this time simply frozen where he stood, shaking with arms outstretched to his sides and head cast upwards. He thought he felt a hand wrap around his neck, then slide down his chest in a mockery of intimacy. A voice that he heard in his mind before now filled the room, a voice he remembered so well his throat closed in terror. 

_Do you know who I am yet?_

He couldn't respond, his tongue felt like lead and opening his mouth only made him feel like he was going to be ill.

_Come now, you can speak. Do not be afraid of me._

The phantom hand slid lower and caressed him everywhere despite his muted struggles. Nodding, tears poured down his face as he knew that he was no longer his own person, his sanity in tatters....this couldn't possibly be real.

"I-I know who you are. I know what you are..."

A strangled sob left Thranduil's throat as the weight of the world crashed down upon him. Entire centuries gone by with happiness, his home slowly turned from green to gray to black. He'd wondered how the forest could be so horrible to traverse, why the foul creatures invaded his woods. The realization hit him with a force and he felt nausea well up in him in turn.

The forest didn't poison him. He brought the poison to the forest.

Thranduil felt a hand tighten around his neck as he struggled mutely to move or get out of the hold, but there was nothing on his throat when his hands dug around for digits.

_Correct...you caused this. You brought this illness upon your realm._

He heard white noise in his ears as his struggles became less and less wild with the tightening hand on his throat tensing, slowly slipping out of consciousness. He heard the voice distantly as he felt himself fall to the floor, low and menacing.

_Ai, no need to struggle....you can't escape what's inside of you._

_\-------------_

_Every part of him inside and out felt utterly numb._

_He felt nothing, saw nothing, and the sounds he could barely hear were nothing but the wind on the plains of Dagorlad and the occasional cry from one of his injured men as they perished around him._

_Something brushed over his chest. He should not have been able to feel it, his breastplate felt connected to the melted mass of his skin, but he could not move to investigate it._

_It was almost like a hand. Maybe not a hand, but a finger, feeling it push straight through to his heart. How odd._

_He felt his soul kindle again with warmth and power._

_He would not die._

_Voices, certainly not the wind, rose out of the darkness._

_A weak, pitiful cry eked out between his charred, decimated lips. High-pitched and keening, he hoped it wound be enough._

_He soon felt himself be lifted, the voices around him frantic and worried._

_"Togol ten an î estolad nîn, gwao hi!"_

_As he drifted off to sleep he heard a voice that was like music to him, tantalizing in its soft melody._

_**Rest.**_

\-----------------

The days after Thranduil stopped bothering to leave his chambers. Though he knew Mirkwood would be hosting Lord Elrond of Imladris and the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien to have talks about the welfare of his kingdom and its decline, he couldn't bother them with his insanity. He sent for Galion who could send his son a message. Galion came to him mere minutes later.

"My lord? It is...unusual of you to ask me for anything as of late. Are you well?"

Thranduil waved him off with a hand. He felt exhausted enough to not leave his bed.

"I am fine. Make sure Legolas greets our guests as I would do. I know you are no royal figure but you have more experience by my side than he does."

Galion nodded. "Yes sir....do you need anything?"

Thranduil paused in thought. "A...fire. In the hearth. It is too cold here."

Galion felt concerned, for the air was heavy with summer heat and Thranduil had never felt the twinge of cold before. On top of that, Thranduil normally refused to be near open flame for understandable reasons. Still, he could not refuse his king's orders. 

"Yes, sir." 

Trying to ignore Thranduil's sightless gaze was difficult as he prepared the firewood and set the hearth ablaze. Thranduil chuckled low in his throat, making Galion shiver.

"My king?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a thought that came to me. Now leave or I will kill you." Thranduil replied, singing quietly to himself. Galion left without a word to go bring his king's message to the prince, his eyes wide with fear. As Galion departed, his baritone echoing through the halls.

_\--------------_

Elrond and Galadriel arrived together into the realm of the Greenwood. Though they'd heard the rumors of namesake changes due to what lay in the deeps of the forest, the two of them knew that Thranduil would not prefer his realm being referred to as such. They observed the woods around them, dark and forboding with strong magic not known to either of them. 

"What do you think should be done?" Elrond asked of his companion. 

Galadriel stay silent for a while yet, thinking. "We will have to discuss with Thranduil what he would want to be done. What I think should be done, however? I think we should collaborate with the Wizards. This magic is far beyond either of our power, perhaps they could be of assistance."

Elrond's eyebrows raised. So there was indeed truth to the whispers he had heard, the Wizards were here in Arda. "Indeed. When I return to Imladris I will attempt to contact them."

Galadriel nodded, smiling when they found the rather hidden gate to Thranduil's palace, a wave of recollection hitting her. She hadn't visited Oropher's son before, nor Oropher himself since the Elder Days in Doriath. She hadn't known that her acquaintance had decided to all but replicate Thingol's halls in the Greenwood. The two of them dismounted their horses, which were then led away by servants who had come out of the shadows. Crossing the narrow bridge, they were let in by guards who bowed to them as they crossed the threshold.

The young prince of the Greenwood greeted them along with an elf that looked to be a servant trailing behind. "Mae govannen, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel. Welcome to the Woodland Realm."

Elrond and Galadriel nodded. Elrond looked around with awe, never having seen such massive and elaborate underground structures before. Galadriel, being rather used to the elegant nature of the architecture, took over while her son admired Thranduil's halls. 

"We were hoping to speak with your father."

Legolas shifted from foot to foot, clearly uneasy, particularly when she felt the lady's presence in his mind.. "He is indisposed, my lady. He sent his aide and I in his place to conduct the negotiations. He says it will be valuable practice for me. I hope that is acceptable?"

Galadriel probed just a tad further, she didn't quite feel the entirety of their words had been spoken, touching each elf's mind for a clue.

_I know of your powers, my lady. I trust you will not invade where I do not wish it._

_Ai! Such powerful magic....what are you doing in my mind, my lady?!_

Galadriel nodded, finding her way blocked and not being cruel enough to invade anyway. "It is acceptable, of course. Do send your father our best wishes." 

The aide Galadriel found was named Galion stepped forward. "I am sure you are both in need of a meal and rest. Come, let me show you to the dining hall." 

Holding up a hand, he led the three of them to the dining hall. "I am, in actuality, Thranduil's servant. I do hope you will excuse me if I join the discussions, as Thranduil himself has said I should help in counseling Legolas. I have spent many, many years at the side of my king and have learned much." 

"That is perfectly acceptable. The more voices to discuss with that are familiar with the realm's laws and statures, the better..." 

It was now Galadriel's turn to go silent as Elrond spoke with the two. She searched for the king's mind throughout the palace, noting that each person she came across felt some level of unease. The closer she got to where she believed Thranduil's mind was, the more uneasy those around his became. She felt what amounted to a wall of stone guarding one mind, undoubtedly Thranduil's. Never before had she met someone with such powerful defense. No matter how long she spent trying to find a crack or weakness in the facade, there was none. The king's mind was impenetrable.

A hand on her shoulder, calm and firm, brought her out of her reverie.

"Galadriel. Come, sit with us as we dine."

Shaking her head, she followed Legolas to the table. She would find out how to break that wall.

\-----------------

Thranduil lay in bed, silent. He'd not had a fit in days, which meant he could rest, albeit restlessly, for the first time in decades. Still, he was always on edge, waiting for the next fit to happen. With each moment that passed, Thranduil's nervousness only grew.

_I grow strong in you._

"What do you plan to do?" Thranduil asked no one. He'd taken to talking to the entity inside him, finding the wicked spirit to be a macabre companion, the only one who understood his plight even if it...he was the cause of it.

_I plan to return._

"How? You still do not have physical form, you never will. It would weaken you to return to your fortress." Thranduil heard chuckling and felt his entire being drain of color before he felt himself be jolted out of bed with a yelp.

_Have I not, though?_

Thranduil's sightless eyes widened as his feet moved towards the door, trying to resist weakly. His hands picked up the dual swords that were his favorites, still sharp and battle-ready. "Ai! Let me go!"

_Do you think I will?_

Thranduil feared what would befall him as his feet led him to a secret exit to the palace. Of course, the spirit would know which entrances were guarded. Quiet, bare footsteps padded along the stone floors of the palace, Thranduil pushing the secret gate open and closing it without a sound.

"Which way will we go? North or south?"

_South, to Dol Guldur._

That was five days ago. Thranduil longed for his bed, his feet aching and bleeding by now, split open by the cruel roots and rocks that littered the forest's floor but he could not stop. He knew the wood was thinning and Dol Guldur would be close. He was not quite sure what would happen to him once there, his voice cracking from exhaustion.

"Do not...do not kill me...I have a son...my people...they need me..." 

_I have a plan for you, a way to thank you for your service to me._

Thranduil felt as he veered sharply to his left. Where was he being led? Feeling new tears wash his dirtied cheeks, he felt a hand grab his wrist and force his fingers to his forehead.

_\----------_

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I do not think my father would allow reinforcements to be brought here. He is very stubborn about the ferocity and strength of his warriors." Legolas sighed. "He will think you are trying to take his kingdom."

The three royals had been negotiating for three long days, trying to come to a compromise. It was clear the wood would be corrupted, entirely evil in time, but Legolas and Galion were unwilling to secede.

"The king has not been himself." Galion supplied before either noble asked. "We think he may be suffering from his grief, even after so long. It has corrupted him, twisted him into paranoia. He does not trust even those closest to him and he does not allow us to see him."

Galadriel gave her son a look of concern. "Perhaps we will need to visit with the king. Elrond is a healer, as you know, he may be able to help."

_I do not think the king's condition is one of grief._

Elrond listened to Galadriel's counsel and nodded in agreement to both statements. He'd lost his own One and it was not nearly this severe, though it certainly seemed like it. "I might be able to do something, yes. I don't have my most powerful tools that I have back in Imladris, but I can improvise-" 

Elrond paused mid-sentence as he felt the surrounding air grow heavy. He recognized the feeling, turning to Galadriel. "What's wrong?"

"....the king is gone." she spoke in a hushed voice.

Legolas stood hastily. "What do you mean? Galion checked on him this morning!" 

Galion looked to the floor, silent. Guilt coursed through him as his voice wavered. "...I did not, my prince. Not for days. He threatened me harm if I returned the last time."

As Legolas readied himself to start lecturing the servant, Elrond held up his hand. "Daro! We need to find your father, wherever he has gone. Galadriel, can you sense him?" 

_Spiders, trees, she navigated the cursed forest, searching for that wall._ "I am trying to find his mind, but I cannot sense it. He is outside of my range of sight....and that is very difficult to achieve. I think his mind is being hidden from me."

"He could be anywhere!" Legolas moaned. "How are we supposed to find him?"

"By sending out search parties." Galadriel replied calmly, her experience with leading a kingdom being useful. "We, too, should look for him. He could be hurt or in danger. Gather your guard, Legolas, and tell them to scour Mirkwood for any sign."

Nodding, Legolas sprinted off through the palace. Galion remained, waiting to be given orders. His king could be in trouble but he wasn't about to do his own thing when two members of nobility were present.

"Tell us all that you know, Galion." Elrond prodded, sitting them down.

Galion sat and balled his hands in his lap, looking down in thought. "I remember the king using language I'd never heard before. Not Khuzdul, nor the tongues of Men. I'd seen writings from scraps of parchment he hadn't been able to burn, drawings, too...all the same things. He's blind, my lord, he should not be able to write. It's uncanny...he fears fire more than anything and yet he would always be near the hearth. He said he had been cold on many occasions. And the...the..."

Elrond didn't rush him, sending a thought to Galadriel, who soothed the servant's mind, albeit with a shudder from him. 

"That is very strange magic, my lady...anyway, the fits. My king had these fits where he'd talk to no one, make his limbs move in odd ways and angles...some looked like they had to have been broken. He'd scream or cry during them at times, while during others he would be eerily silent. I was...not supposed to be privy to these but sometimes I had been cleaning when he'd burst into his chambers, lock the door, and begin. I'd have to hide behind drapery, making sure to not make a sound, otherwise I was afraid I would be hurt. He'd threatened even Legolas once he was older...this has been going on for centuries now. I know he tried to hide them as best he could, but there were....a few that happened to occur in the public eye." 

He then described the fit that overtook Thranduil, the first one that he found out about. Elrond and Galadriel shared their thoughts with each other silently, gauging the descriptions.

_It sounds like dark magic...there is no way this is grief, overwhelming or otherwise. A spell has been set upon the king of the Greenwood._

_Indeed. It is not certain that Thranduil is safe. We must look for him immediately._

Once Galion had finished his recollection, Elrond nodded. "Thank you, Galion. I think it would be wise for you to stay here and watch over the palace in Thranduil and Legolas' places. We must leave to follow the scouting parties."

Galadriel found the both of them horses while Elrond made sure there were supplies enough in case they lost their way. The Greenwood had a spell upon it, one powerful enough that even the strongest of minds could be turned by such sorcery into helpless wretches. As they left the palace, the suffocating closeness of the forest's atmosphere closed in around them. They did not hasten as they didn't know whether Thranduil was a mile or two away or across the entire wood by now. To rush now and exhaust themselves early would be foolish. 

_He'd rushed to find each and every survivor on the plains of Dagorlad. There were too many, they beyond number._

_He knew they had to move quickly if they were to break through the gate into Mordor, but his instinct as a healer was to help those in need first. Gil-Galad could command his own troops, he would join him later on. The king understood as Elrond rushed out of his sight. Rallying a mixed group of elves and men, he frowned, barking orders with brusque efficiency._

_"Tírathol an chern, ú-prestathol gorthrim....search for the wounded, but do not disturb the dead. They have been disturbed enough this day."_

_With that, he sent groups of scouts out to bring those they could to the healing tents. He himself went to search alone between two groups, as he could judge who was truly in need of aid or who wouldn't last the night even with aid. It pained Elrond so to have to leave so many men and women behind, their pitiful cries as he passed by echoing in his ears. He did not have enough resources nor space for the amount of wounded, and he quietly prayed their souls, both immortal and not, would find their ways to their respective resting places. As he found those able to be healed, he would yell out for the groups nearby to carry this soldier or that one to the tents._

_Looking down, he noticed this was one of the sites where the dragons had massacred the fields. A body, burnt beyond recognition, lay still in the ash that surrounded the entire section of field. Elrond thought the man dead at first glance, there was no way anyone could survive such an atrocious injury. A small shudder rushed through him as if the air had turned cold._

_He almost missed the small, weak cry among so many of the others in his haste to return to the tents, as he was on the farthest reaches of the battlefield by now. He'd also nearly missed the insignia of the royalty of the Woodland Realm on the partially-melted breastplate. He'd heard of the king's death, but his son had been unaccounted for._

_By the Valar, the prince was alive!_

_"Togol ten an î estolad nîn, gwao hi!"_

Elrond knew that haste could kill. He didn't want Thranduil to die on his hands as he so easily could have done many years ago. He was sure Thranduil never knew of who rescued him or healed him in the earlier days of his slow recovery. The prince had been too overwhelmed by pain once the first stage of healing passed, and he had been treated with many spells to keep him sedate before that.

To himself, though, Elrond hoped this would not end differently. Galadriel was sure to know of what he thought, and sure enough, calming thoughts not his own eased his mind.

_If the king could persevere through wrath and ruin, he can persevere through this._

_\--------_

_Help....cannot breathe...._

_You won't need breath, you will be truly immortal._

_Please...don't do this to me...don't leave me here to die..._

_You will be a monument to your power and mine. Look out over the forest with pride, Thranduil, son of Oropher. It is your land for eternity._

_No...._

_\----------_

Elrond halted his horse when he noticed Galadriel had paused. "What is it?" 

"...the king. I can sense him again...he is fading, Elrond."

Elrond's expression hardened. They still had no idea where Thranduil was. "Then let us make haste. Can you tell me where he is?"

"East of Dol Guldur. That's all I can tell you." she replied sadly.

"That is enough to go on. Noro lim!"

Riding ever faster on his mount, Elrond's heart tried not to beat quickly with anxiety. The trees were thinning as they rode southward, which made moving through the trunks of trees easier as they left the paths of the forest. Though there was little sunlight to go by and Elrond felt his mind being pressed on by the spell of the wood, urging him to deviate from his route, he cast it from his mind. Every so often he made sure Galadriel was following, and they made great haste. The Greenwood, when traveled on safe roads, took several weeks to traverse, a week on foot if traveling a more or less straight path from the palace. They were able to travel the length of it in three, only stopping for brief meals.

Galadriel sent out word to the scouts to travel southward. She knew it would be a subconscious urge at best to them and she hoped they all agreed to do so. Pretty soon she spotted figures through the trees that were most definitely Elven in nature, flitting through branches with ease. 

"My lord, my lady, come quick!"

A clearing in the trees broke the darkness a ways in front of them, light pouring down into the darkness that was the Greenwood. Elrond could see a tall, vast tree in the center was the focal point, its branches hanging higher than any other in the area. The two of them dismounted their horses and entered the clearing, a feeling of dread washing over them along with a cold wind as their faces contorted into twin visages of shock.

Elrond had seen the horrors of war. He'd seen the charred remnants of the king's body as it lay on a battlefield surrounded by thousands upon thousands of others. He'd worked to bring Thranduil back from the steps of Mandos' halls, endured hearing his screams of pain. He'd given him the ability to shroud himself in his old appearance, helped him learn to function as normal despite a lack of sight. He'd seen the atrocities that brought Thranduil to that point. He knew the world was a cruel place from the beginning of his life. 

This was so much worse. 

Thranduil was attached to the tree about halfway up its trunk, just below the start of the branches. One could say he was almost growing  _into_ the tree itself. Vines, thorny and likely poisonous, curled around his limbs and grew back into the wood that housed the wickedness. Vines even grew out of his mouth, pointing upwards before circling the tree's trunk and back down to ensnare his neck, pinning him to the bark with his head tilted towards the sky like some twisted sacrifice. His feet were bleeding profusely, sharp detritus sticking out of the flesh, as were his neck, mouth, wrists, and ankles. The tree had become stained with blood under the king's body. 

"Guards, get him down,  _now!"_ Elrond shouted, hoping his fear didn't show through. "Be careful of the vines but  _get him down!_ "

Several of the Mirkwood guard started cutting away at the vines holding their king in bondage, shouting at one another to hold an arm or be careful of his neck as they sliced and hacked at the stubborn plants. They grew back quickly, which meant it was a game of time to get Thranduil down from them as they tried to grow around the limbs that hung so limp in their grasp, as if they did not wish to be separated from the one they held. Thranduil's body began to spasm in refusal to be removed from his bonds even as he tested the strength of the vines that held him.

When it came to their questions about the vines lodged in his mouth and neck, Elrond responded, "Just cut the ones holding him to the tree, I'll take care of the rest!"

The guard eventually warded off the vines enough to lower Thranduil to the grassy ground below, scattering when Elrond told them not to restrain the seizing king before them. Elrond noted with horror that the vines hadn't passed through just his mouth, but the whole of his body. Taking up one of the king's hands, he felt nothing but cold from them, colder than any living being he felt. 

There was little time. 

Laying his own hands upon Thranduil's chest, he started using every scrap of his magic that he could muster to bring Thranduil back from the steps of Mandos' halls once more. Galadriel helped usher the onlooking guard away, giving her son space to work, watching on with cool objectivity.

"Thranduil, lasto beth nîn...tolo dan nan galad...leitha ten o gwanath, delu faer!"

With each spell and incantation he tried, Elrond checked the hand of the king. Though little, almost imperceptible change was made outwardly, Elrond could feel Thranduil's spirit slowly retreating from the coldness of death with every word, his spasms slowing as he grew still. He was greatly ill and would have to be brought back to the palace or even Lothlorien for further healing, but that was a matter of little importance. 

Thranduil would live again. 

As the guards once again approached to carry their king, Elrond noticed one thing that sent a feeling of dread coursing down his spine, a bucket of ice water ruining his elation with a single gasp. Holding up his hand, he paused the guard's ministrations.

"Galadriel..."

Her face hardened into one of grimness when her eyes beheld her son's discovery. "We must hold a meeting of the White Council."

A red eye, carved into Thranduil's forehead, bled and shone where his crown should have been, a jewel of evil set in soft flesh. Two words lay under the carving, not quite bleeding but still inflamed. What worried Elrond and shocked him more was that it looked like the eye and words had been carved from fingernails, which mirrored the grime he found on the king's fingertips.

_Forgive me._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Daro! - Stop!  
> Togol ten an î estolad nîn, gwao hi! - Bring him to my tents, go now!  
> Lasto beth nîn...tolo dan nan galad - Listen to my words...come towards the light(Also what Elrond used for Frodo when he was fading from the Morgul blade wound)  
> Leitha ten o gwanath, delu faer! - Release him from death, fell spirit!
> 
> I originally had a hell of a lot more references to OTGW(Since that show is great and I think I want to write a crossover at some point since elves and trees and all the forests and connections and things), which was what gave me the idea for Thranduil's final fate and also his form in the beginning when appearing to the child, in reference to the Beast. Mixing the Beast with the stag form would be quite creepy. The beginning is referenced from an obscure poem called "Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. It's literally translated as "The Elfking" and was made into song by many composers but most notably Schubert. I learned about it in my music appreciation course and I was like "Hmm, how can I incorporate this into the work?" It's what triggered the complete re-write in the first place, really.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked and hope your year is wonderful!


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